Here We Go Again

Paul lives in the basement.
Daily, he sacrifices Oreo cookies to the mouse gods in the wall.
He fell under the enchantment of their whiskers and pink noses.
I am fairly sure it is legal to sacrifice Oreo cookies.
I am not sure if Paul blesses the Oreos beforehand.

Paul practices going both up and down the stairs.
He strives for a level of perfection in everything he does.
The smoke detector buzzed when Paul burned a cat drawing
to smudge the basement with mice protecting juju.

The mice appreciated Paul’s dedication.
They performed circus acrobatics and high wire stunts to entertain him.
They performed these daring feats for the Oreos as well.
For a time the mice brought Paul little gifts they found outside.
A plastic button, three acorn caps, a sword shaped toothpick.

Paul went with us to church on Sunday.
Communion was given about two-thirds through the service.
When the priest placed the wafer upon Paul’s tongue,
Paul placed an Oreo in the priest’s mouth.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

POSTSCRIPT

No one named Paul lives in our house. Our house does not have a basement. Our house does not have mice. (The mice live under the tool shed.) The character Paul is a fancy created by me so I can do those things in my mind that I have wanted to do in reality, but know those acts are a bit over the line into transgression (or just plain stupid).

I wonder how a proper sample size of priests or ministers, when studied scientifically, would react if during communion someone placed a wafer-shaped eatable in their mouths. Would they react like Federer when Nadal returns his serve? Would they drop dead from surprises since the Oreo is not part of the script? Would they say thank you?

The poem is about Paul, though. How people start doing things and then transfer habits to new but similar situations. I do not mean to equate priests with mice on a one-to-one basis. I do not mean to equate Paul to a priest, even though I realized the poem could be interpreted that way about a week after I wrote it.

I do know you (the reader) will make up your own mind what the poem means to you. I love art for that.

Love & Light

Kenneth


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